


Lives of Quiet Desperation

by Cinaed



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, Rare Pairing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-11-20
Updated: 2005-11-20
Packaged: 2017-10-07 22:46:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/70028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinaed/pseuds/Cinaed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A person named Sunita Khosla once said, "To transform the emptiness of loneliness, to the fullness of aloneness. Ah, that is the secret of life." Neville had always thought that was stupid. Emptiness was emptiness, and when you were alone, you were left with no one but yourself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lives of Quiet Desperation

**Author's Note:**

> This was written post-"The Order of the Phoenix."

_“We’re all lonely for something we don’t know we’re lonely for. How else to explain the curious feeling that goes around feeling like missing somebody we’ve never even met?”_

__~Dace Foster Wallace

A person named Sunita Khosla once said, “To transform the emptiness of loneliness, to the fullness of aloneness. Ah, that is the secret of life.” Neville had always thought that was stupid. Emptiness was emptiness, and when you were alone, you were left with no one but yourself. 

When you’re someone like the great Harry Potter, that’s all right. You’re the Boy Who Lived, who’s going to live and protect the wizarding world once more. When you’re someone like Hermione Granger, that’s all right too. You’re the smartest Muggle-born there’s ever been, and you can be useful. Even if you’re someone like Ron Weasley, that’s all right. You’re one of the most loyal people in Hogwarts. 

When you’re someone like Neville Longbottom though, being alone is agonizing, because there’s nothing to distract you from your flaws. Especially when you have thousands upon thousands of them. Neville knew he was worthless. Knew it and had almost accepted it. It was part of his personality: clumsy, forgetful, worthless, and forgettable. 

He could accept that he was worthless, and he did, usually. It’s just sometimes people like Harry told him he _wasn'_t_, and that’s when the trouble started. If he wasn't worthless, then why he was so useless? Why did he break the prophecy? Why had he looked at the woman who had tortured his parents into madness and not killed her on the spot? It was because he was useless. He knew it, and Harry was just being nice. _

And so being alone was agony, at least for Neville. And it wasn’t just when he was alone in his bed that he found himself in solitude. Even in the Great Hall, squished in between Seamus and Dean, he was alone. It was a lonely feeling, to look around and realize you have nothing in common with anyone sitting around you. That they’d all forget you if you just vanished. That they didn’t really _care_.

The one good thing about being alone was that you could sometimes distract yourself by watching other people. They never noticed, after all, and so Neville had taken to studying his fellow Gryffindor. First, it was his year-mates. He learned that Seamus always had pumpkin juice on Saturdays. That Dean would rub his right shoulder if the dark boy was nervous. That Ron talked to himself if he thought no one was around. That Hermione would lovingly fix every page in a book if they were crumpled. That Lavender was beginning to get exasperated with Trelawney but just went along with Parvati. That Parvati was scared of the dark. That Harry combed his hair over his scar almost as an automatic gesture. 

Then he moved onto the younger Gryffindor. Neville noticed how Ginny’s eyes followed Dean as long as he was in the room, but as soon as he was gone, her gaze would always flicker every so often to Harry. Neville wanted to laugh. Still infatuated with Harry? At least she was hiding it better now. 

It was a few weeks into sixth year that he finally turned his attention to another Harry-worshiper – Colin Creevey. Neville had never really paid attention to the tiny Gryffindor, and in fact made it a point to avoid him, especially when the boy had that camera clicking. Not that Colin ever aimed the camera at him. Who would want a picture of Neville Longbottom? Still, Neville watched him, and was surprised to notice that Colin was no longer lavishing his attention solely on Harry. Instead, he was beginning to switch from week to week. One week it was Ron, another Terry Boot; even Malfoy was secretly photographed. It was almost as if Colin was going through people like Neville was. 

Instead of moving onto another person, Neville began to watch Colin. He watched how lovingly the boy tended to the camera, as though it was a pet like Trevor or Hedwig. He discovered that Colin used the Room of Requirement to develop his film. That surprised him – Colin had known about the Room of Requirement for _ages_ before anyone like Harry had! Why hadn’t Colin told his hero about the room? The question nagged at Neville for a few weeks before he finally broke down and went to ask the tiny Gryffindor. 

He followed Colin to the Room of Requirement that night, the question leaping from his lips haphazardly before he could even think of a response to Colin’s startled “What are you doing here?” 

“Why didn’t you ever show this room off to Harry?”

Colin laughed at that, setting his camera aside. His mousy hair needed a haircut – he gave his bangs an absent shove away from his face before he shook his head and responded. “What, and have him think me even more a freak?” He nodded towards several of the photographs of Harry that littered the room’s walls. 

Neville studied them for a moment. There was a moving one of Harry sitting in the library, looking frustrated. As he watched, the Harry in the photograph grimaced in frustration and tossed a book aside. Neville looked up, and smiled a little sheepishly. “He would think it was a bit obsessive, I think.” 

Colin stared at him for a moment. “So...is that all you wanted to ask?” 

He flushed. “Um, well, yes...look, I won’t tell anyone about this place. It’s, um, your private spot, obviously, and I’m sorry to have bothered you....” As he rambled, he glanced around. It seemed like everyone was on the wall. Ginny, Luna, Justin, Fred and George, Dennis– 

Him. His rambling halted at that, and Neville stared in disbelief. He finally noticed Colin looking confused, and blurted out before he could even consider the words, “You actually have a picture of _me_!” 

Colin laughed. “Yes. Your point is?” 

“Well, I...I mean....” Neville felt his cheeks heat up. “It’s just, I’m not really photographic,” he said at last, voice apologetic. “It was just a waste of film.” 

“No it wasn’t.” The other boy folded his arms across his chest, looking a little indignant. “I never waste film. I _always_ take pictures at the right moment. I happen to like that picture.” Despite his egocentric words, his voice was surprisingly gentle. “You’d just come from a DA meeting where you’d done really well.” He jabbed a finger at the photograph. “See? You’re actually looking confident!” 

Neville stared at the picture. Colin was right. He _did_ look confident, cheeks flushed from the pure exhilaration of doing something right for once. He even thought he remembered that night. Harry had complimented him, and for one of the few times in his life Neville had felt like he’d earned the praise from the Boy-Who-Lived. 

“See?” Colin sounded a little smug, and when Neville looked back at him, he wore a self-satisfied look. “It’s a great picture. All of my pictures are great.” 

If he had been anyone but Neville Longbottom, he might have made a snide remark at that. As it was, he just smiled slightly. “They _are_ really good. You’ve been developing them here since first year?” 

The other boy nodded. “Found the Room when Malfoy was tormenting me, trying to break my camera.” He patted the table lovingly. “The Room’s really useful.” 

Neville thought of the exhausting DA meetings that often left him staggering from the intensity of his labor. “Yes. It is.” He glanced around once more. “Do you have a picture of everyone in here?” 

“Most of them,” the photographer admitted. “I figure maybe after the war, I can make a book of students who lived here.” 

After the war. The thought brought an instant lump to Neville’s throat. He’d never allowed himself to think about what would happen after the war. Mostly because he didn’t expect to survive. After all, he was the one who always made mistakes, with Sirius Black in third year and Mad-Eye Moody in fourth year, and one day that mistake would be fatal. 

“Neville?” 

He blinked, and realized Colin was looking at him with concern, but the lump was still in his throat, choking the very oxygen from his lungs, and so he just tried to summon up a smile of reassurance. 

He didn’t manage one very well apparently, because Colin looked even more concerned. “Neville, are you all right? Your face went white.” 

“Fine…I’m fine.” Neville managed to get that out at least, but even he could hear the whispery, wobbly quality of the words, and inwardly kicked himself. He had never quite learned how to lie. 

“Do you think a book after the war is a bad idea? I’d get everyone’s permission, though, so I didn’t think it’d be bad--” 

“Permission of those who’re still _alive_ you mean.” The whisper escaped his lips before he had time to consider it, and the lump in his throat dropped to his stomach, clenching his gut as it was Colin’s turn to go white. “Sorry, I didn’t mean…. I….” Neville’s brain could offer up no reason for his cruel reminder of reality, and so whispered again, “Sorry.” 

But Colin turned away, his shoulders hunched and head bowed. “Get out.” 

“But, I--”

_“GET OUT!”_ The roar made the photographs flutter wildly, and Neville flinched. “Get out of here, _now_.” 

Neville was vaguely aware that he was trembling, but it was a normal sensation since he was usually anxious over something. He tried to keep his voice steady even as his stomach did acrobatics. “I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry.” 

When Colin replied, his voice was hollow. “Why not? It’s true. I reckon half of us will be dead by the end of the war.” 

“I shouldn’t have said it,” Neville insisted. A stab of regret pierced him at the hollowness of Colin’s voice and the fatalistic words he’d caused him to utter. “Everyone’s entitled to their dreams, grounded in reality or not. I shouldn’t have ruined yours.” 

The younger boy still wouldn’t look at him. “What sort of dreams do _you_ have then?”

He hesitated. He supposed Colin was entitled to trash one of his dreams, but each one was so very precious. After a long, long moment, he decided to admit his dream of becoming a famous herbologist, touring the world and becoming renowned for his vast knowledge, like Professor Lupin was so knowledgeable about dark creatures. Surely Colin couldn’t mock his dream anymore than he himself had. 

Neville opened his mouth, ready to fumble with his tongue to describe his dream, but instead he heard himself say in a steady voice, “I want my parents to recognize me.” 

Colin turned to look at him, expression bewildered. “Excuse me?” 

Ah and here came his fumbling tongue as he stumbled over his words. “I--I…. Nothing. I meant to-to say that I w-want to be a herbologist. Professor Lupin said I was good at it, and Sprout agrees, so I was, um, thinking that I’d…um….” He faltered at the demanding look on the other boy’s face, and unconsciously wrapped his arms around his belly as his stomach clenched again. “Be a herbologist. Travel the world. You know. You’ll probably travel too, with, um, maybe the Daily Prophet, getting photographs and…and…that sort of thing.” 

Colin ignored his pathetic attempt to change the subject. “I thought your parents were dead. I mean, you live with your gran.” His curiosity had been aroused, that much was evident, from the way his brown eyes bore into Neville’s and he completely ignored the fact that his mousy brown hair was falling in his face again. He put his hands on his hips, demanding an answer. 

“I…they were Aurors. They’re…in St. Mungo’s.” 

“St. Mungo’s?” 

Neville stared, before he remembered that Colin was a Muggle-born. “St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. You know, where they sent Professor Lockhart after he lost his memory.” 

Some understanding dawned on Colin’s face. “Oh! So they lost their memory then?”

“I….” Memory, sanity, _everything_. How often had he heard his gran rail about the injustice of his parents’ fates? ‘They had had everything, Neville, and those Death Eaters took it all away. Everything. Frank could’ve been Minister of Magic someday!’ There had always been an unspoken ‘Minister of Magic, a rank that you’ll never come close to achieving.’ “Memory, yes, they lost that.” 

The other boy frowned, confused again. “Well, can’t St. Mungo’s fix that?” 

“They’re still working on Lockhart, and it’s been three years,” Neville whispered, wondering if he should just leave it at that. “And that wasn’t one of the most powerful Memory Spells.” 

“Oh….” Colin considered that for a moment. “How long ago did your parents get their Memory Spells?” 

It wasn’t often that Neville cursed. But he thought of a rather colorful one as he realized he’d gotten caught. He didn’t want to outright lie to Colin. “I…it wasn’t a Memory Spell. It was….” He thought of the spider that Mad-Eye Moody’s imposter had tortured. 

“What? What was it then?”

He swallowed, mouth dry, the muscles in his stomach so tight that he wanted to double over. “Cruciatus. It was the Cruciatus Curse.” 

There was astonishment naked on Colin’s face at that, and then contrition. “The…oh, bloody _hell_, I’m sorry, Neville. I didn’t know. I wouldn’t have pestered you like that…sorry.” The photographer looked down at his hands, strands falling in front his face. “We can change the subject, honestly.” 

As always, Neville fumbled for words, bewildered by the other boy’s apologies. “You couldn’t have known. Only Harry, and, well, Hermione and Ron do, and that’s because they saw me at St. Mungo’s…. It’s not something I talk about. I just…adults know. They’re always….” So pitying and always ready with words kind enough to stab. “It’s easier just to say I live with Gran and leave it at that.” 

“I…they were Aurors. I guess they fought in the war.” 

“Yes.” Neville watched him closely. If he focused on trying to figure out Colin’s reaction, he wouldn’t have to remember other rants by his grandmother about his parents’ glory days as top-notch Aurors. And the other boy was making it hard to read him, with that hair of his falling so no one could even see his face. Neville moved closer to him. “They fought in the war. Were attacked by Death Eaters not long after You-Know-Who vanished. The Death Eaters…thought they knew where You-Know-Who was…. Been in St. Mungo’s ever since.” 

“So your gran raised you.” 

“I…yes. She wasn’t going to abandon her grandson to strangers.” And by the time she’d realized he was practically a Squib, it’d been too late to cast him away without looking cruel, and so she’d kept him and tried to teach him all that she could. 

Colin still didn’t look at him, and when he spoke, his voice was low and unreadable. “It’s funny, how no one really talks about what happened during the war. I mean, we all know about Harry, but the other folks. Ron’s father’s Ministry, isn’t he? Wouldn’t he have been in danger? You never -- no one talks about it.” 

“Everyone wants -- wanted -- wants to forget.” Neville moved closer, trying to peer through that unruly mop to see Colin’s face. “They wanted to enjoy the peace while they could. It never lasts, after all. There’s always someone wanting to become a Dark Wizard.” 

“That’s true.” Colin finally looked up. His eyes were a little bloodshot but otherwise he wore a calm look. “If there must be trouble let it be in my day, that my child may have peace.”

He blinked. “What?” 

“Thomas Paine said that.” Colin was still looking calm and serene. “He’s a Muggle, you know. A famous one. ‘If there must be trouble let it be in my day, that my child may have peace.’ It’s every parent’s wish, I think.” 

“But the children never have peace.” Why was Colin looking so _calm_ while Neville could feel each and every one of his nerves fraying bit by bit? _“Never.”_ The word was anguished. 

“No, they don’t. But they keep trying.” 

“Why?” Neville demanded. “Why do we bother trying?” It was a question he’d asked of himself, night after night, staring at the ceiling and wondering why he didn’t just end it all and spare his grandmother further grief. 

Colin’s response was soft. “Because, despite all appearances, life is still worth living. As long as there is still the tiniest bit of joy, everything else is worth it.” He smiled, but it was lopsided, as though unable to summon enough energy to produce a full-out one. “Even if there is _only_ the tiniest bit of joy.” 

Neville looked at him at that, and realized that he’d misread the other boy’s expression. He hadn’t been serene at all, but instead he’d been so agitated that his features had frozen into a blank expression. But his bloodshot eyes were still troubled and almost lost. He looked around at the countless photographs, and realized something. “There isn’t a picture of you up on that wall. How will people be able to buy your book and say ‘Look it’s that lad on the back cover, that’s Colin Creevey, the photographer’?” 

The lopsided smile remained. “I can’t exactly take a picture of myself.” 

“Oh.” Neville flushed. “I suppose you can’t.” He looked at the camera dangling around Colin’s neck. “I…could try. I’m not very good though. Used Uncle Algie’s and took a picture of my own thumb, but if you make sure I don’t put my fingers in front of the…the lens I could _try_.” 

Colin blinked, and to Neville’s astonishment, reddened as well. “You don’t have to do that, honestly,” he said with a soft, almost embarrassed laugh. “No one’ll care if the photographer’s not in there. They’ll be too busy looking at pictures of Harry and Malfoy and Hermione and…well, tons of people. No one’ll notice if I miss a few.” 

“You didn’t miss me, and nobody will pay any attention to my picture. Everyone should be in it, and that includes you.” Neville, remembering what his gran had done once when he’d actually tried to defy her, poked Colin in the chest, right above where the camera rested against his robes. “Now, tell me how to take the picture, and I’ll do it.” 

Colin looked startled, but lifted the camera gently and handed it over to Neville nonetheless. After a moment of fumbling with the camera, which was still warm from the heat of the other boy’s body, Neville had the camera in front of his face, squinting through the lens to try and see Colin clearly. 

“Is it in focus? I can adjust it -- watch your right thumb! Point it towards me, my face, carefully, if it’s focus, ‘cause if it isn’t….” The boy fell silent as Neville shushed him, and shuffled. He looked almost cornered, the lopsided smile now awkward. 

“Smile,” Neville said, when it became clear that Colin wasn’t about to just beam at the camera that was now focused on his face. He sighed as the awkward smile turned sheepish. “No, grin like you mean it. Like someone told you you’ve won a million Galleons.” 

Colin fidgeted, and ducked his head. “I…I just forget how to smile, when a camera’s on me.”

“Then just think about a girl you fancy,” Neville said, and the photographer’s head shot up to blink owlishly at him. “You know, who you’d like to, um, snog. Thinking about her might relax you.” 

Colin shook his head. “Doubt that,” he mumbled. “Thinking about snogging will just make my face get red.” And indeed, his ears were already turning pink. 

“Fine then, think about….” Neville paused. “Something else.” 

“That was helpful,” Colin mumbled, looking amused. 

_Click._ 

“Ow….” The small Gryffindor rubbed at his eyes. “Now I know why everyone glares at me once I’ve taken their pictures.” 

“Got your picture! And you were looking amused, too, so it might come out all right.” Neville felt a bit triumphant. “And I think that I maybe had my fingers away from the lens!” 

“You did,” Colin acknowledged, and smiled even as he reached for the camera. Taking it from Neville, their fingers brushing and sending an odd little shiver through Neville's frame that the older Gryffindor steadfastly ignored, he set the camera on the table. “I saw your fingers weren’t in the way right before you blinded me.” 

Neville laughed. “Now you know how Harry felt all through second year.” Focus on normal conversation, and he would forget about that odd little shiver. 

“Yes, yes I do.” Colin kept smiling. “Thank you. I can develop it later and show it to you if you’d like.” At the other boy’s eager nod, he glanced around. “Well, it’s getting late. I guess we should, well, head back to the dormitory.” 

“Probably should.” Neville glanced around for one last look, gaze lingering on the photographs of him. There weren’t as many of him as there were of Harry, to be sure, but still, more than he expected. “Do you have any pictures of Cedric?” 

“Yes. Why?” There was an odd note to Colin’s voice, and Neville blinked as he realized he was being given a wary look. 

“Well, I thought Cho Chang might like a copy of….” Neville stopped dead. “I meant pictures of him alive. Not….” He felt nauseous at the very thought. “You took pictures of his _body_?” 

Colin flinched at the disgusted note. “Only one! I -- no one knew he was dead, at first, and I started taking pictures of the crowd once I realized….” He took a step away from Neville. “I-I was going to throw it away but…I didn’t. Dunno why, really.” 

“To remember?” Perhaps to remember, like his gran had saved every single article recounting the torture of her son and daughter-in-law and the trial of their attackers. 

His fellow Gryffindor just looked at him for a long moment, shocked. “Yes. To remember.” He sounded astonished that Neville understood, his eyes brightening gratefully. “To remember.” He smiled, almost painfully earnest from the joy that Neville hadn’t just called him a loony and stormed off. 

“Even if sometimes it’s better to forget,” Neville said, but there was no real grief behind his words; he just sounded tiredly matter-of-fact. How many times had he wished his gran wouldn’t pull out that memory book and flip through the pages? He swallowed, the lump back in his throat. “I should go….” 

He turned, but halted at Colin’s “Wait.” Turning, he took in the other boy’s red face and embarrassed look. “I…life’s meant to have some joys and sorrows, right? But there has to be some choices as well so we can have those joys and sorrows. Everyone has a choice. They can let opportunities pass them by or they can…seize it and see whether they’ve got some joy or sorrow. Right?” 

Neville blinked at Colin’s anxious rambling but managed a bemused, “I suppose so?” 

Colin smiled warmly at that, and Neville wished he had the camera to catch that grin. “Good.” Then he leaned forward, took Neville’s face in his hands, and still smiling kissed him square on the mouth. 

Neville just stared for a moment as the other boy’s lips touched his. Colin’s mouth had the taste of pumpkin juice and saliva, a mixture that made Neville uncertain if he wanted to gag or taste more. It was a nice kiss though, better than the clumsy one from Ginny after Yule Ball that had had the taste of bitter obligation to it, and so almost absently Neville took hold of the straps on the camera around Colin’s neck and tugged him closer. 

At last, Colin broke the kiss, but stayed close, the camera digging into both of their frames. “I’ve wanted to do that ever since you looked so _surprised_ that I had a picture of you,” he said, a bit breathless. 

Neville smiled slowly. The little shiver was now a slight trembling of his frame, but it was a nice sort of anxiety that pooled in his belly and made him shake. This was the sort that made boys trip over their own feet while talking to a girl they fancied. “So that’s why you didn’t want to picture the person you wanted to snog?”

The other boy looked sheepish. “Yes, well, you happened to be that person, and I was already trying hard _not_ to think about you like that….” He went mute as Neville kissed him, clearly surprised at his fellow Gryffindor’s prerogative. 

When Neville broke the kiss, it was to say, “This means I’ll get to practice taking your pictures again, right?” He rather thought he would be able to get a few pictures of post-snogged Colin that would be wearing a smile. 

Colin stared, and then laughed. “You can take as many pictures of me as you like. Waste an entire roll of film on me.” 

“I will never waste film. I will _always_ take pictures at the right moment,” Neville informed him with a smile, and then stifled the other boy’s laughter with another kiss. 

**

  


  
**_"The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation."_  
~Henry David Thoreau**


End file.
